Flatus Novo
by MissRoman
Summary: From small beginnings to epic proportions, follow Charlotte as she finds herself flying past the dog-eared pages and her windowsill into the wild, dark streets of the city with only an ink-stained hand to guide her.
1. Prologue

_**Story Disclaimer**: I do not own the Newsies._

Hello! I'm officially back with an official story. I'm trying out a couple things, such as not having the story completely written out before posting, using first person, and finally giving in to writing a female OC. In other words, bear with me and my mistakes.

This story is basically my take on a lot of things you see in the movie. What they are, you can figure out. So read, enjoy, and possibly review? I'm going to try and get the next chapter out pretty quick, since the prologue isn't much.

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"You've come to the wrong place, Ma'am," said the tall, thin mistress of the orphanage to the pathetic looking woman that stood on her doorstep. This was the third time this winter that Mrs. Lana had to say no to some poor woman holding a babe in her arms.

"What do ya mean? This is an orphanage, ain't it?" protested the flushed young woman. Mrs. Lana smiled with forced sympathy.

"Yes, but we're full for the winter. Sorry."

The door shut in the woman's face, leaving her in the bitter cold. She knocked again and again, but no one answered. The baby in her arms started crying. She knew the baby was hungry. But she hadn't the money to feed herself, much less the child.

Disappointed and not knowing what to do now, she turned and walked back down the path. She kept her head down and pulled the baby closer to her breast as the tart winds whipped around her skirts and stung her skin.

She started singing then. She sung quietly as she walked down away from the orphanage, through the bustling crowds that were doing last-minute Christmas shopping, past her favorite bakery that she never visited but always smelled, down the street that ran along the river's edge, and finally, she sang while she stumbled down a sloping, worn path and walked slowly under the big Brooklyn bridge. There was large area of dead grass and dirty sand that could technically be called a shore to the river. Here resided a group of people who were homeless and poor, yet happy in their shelter from the snow and sleeting rain. A big fire was burning in half of a metal trash can. Three or four people were huddled around, their rag-wrapped hands outstretched towards the heat.

"Is that my Christmas turkey, Sandra?" called out one of them at the woman's appearance. She joined them by the fire with a sad smile.

"No, just the baby," she said, handing the crying infant to another one of them. This woman, a middle-aged woman with bags under her blue eyes, took the baby tenderly and sighed while cradling it.

"I tried, Missy. I really did. I went to probably three orphanages. All were full," Sandra said guiltily.

"S'alright. I appreciate it," replied the apparent mother of the child. Her voice was tired.

"The poor children are just looking for some place to stay for the winter. Not their fault that there's so many of them without parents," said the person to Missy's left. This was Henry, a man just on the brink of gray hair and memory loss.

"Oh," cried Missy suddenly, "I don't want my child to be another without parents! I don't want her to live on the streets or in an orphanage."

She buried her head in the baby's stomach and the group around the fire heard her soft sobs and sniffles. Miriam, the last person who sat around the fire, finally looked up from her mountain of rags and tattered blankets. She was only a twelve year old girl who was Sandra's closest friend. They had found the shelter under the bridge together. She looked at Missy with pity swimming in her eyes and made a move towards the woman and her baby.

"Don't worry, Missy. We'll find her a home," she said in her quiet, muffled way of talking. Sandra and her both wrapped their arms around Missy. Henry grunted.

"A home? The baby hasn't even got a name," he said, frowning and looking at the fire's flames.

"Has so!" Missy protested, her head jerking up. Her eyes flashed and the two girls un-attached themselves. They all waited in silence for the decision they had waited two months to hear.

"It's- it's...it's going to be..." Missy fumbled for words as she thought of all her relatives and ancestors. Suddenly she remembered her great aunt who she had visited as a child. Missy had thought her aunt had had the prettiest name in the world.

Taking in a breath, Missy announced, "Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte Faye O'Neil."

There was still a silence as every looked at the baby and then contemplated this new name. For two months, the four of them had been calling the baby just 'the baby'. They knew there would be parting with the child soon, so no one wanted to get too attached.

Henry was nodding. "I like it. I've known a lot of good Charlotte's. But O'Neil isn't your last name, nor hers."

Missy just shrugged and said, "Her father doesn't deserve to know her, so I don't want her finding him."

No one argued with her, instead they went on to say how much they liked the name. Charlotte was feminine, yet it hinted at quality of courage and strength. And it didn't sound like it belonged to someone who was born under a bridge or whose only daily consumption was a bowlful of thin broth and a slice sour bread.

Later that evening, Missy and her child Charlotte settled between the bodies of Sandra and Miriam. The winds had died down and only the night chill remained. Following her nightly habit, Missy began to sing softly to her child. Singing was a thing that the bridge dwellers enjoyed the most. All four had beautiful voices that they loved to blend. It was what brought them together in the first place. Before Missy's child had been born, they would form a quartet and hit the streets. Collecting tips was their only way to make money. Henry was the rich baritone of the group, and a sort of father figure to them all. Miriam and Missy sang with high, sweet voices while Sandra complimented their voices and added flavor to the blend with her own deep voice. They had continued a little while without Missy, but soon winter hit and they all came down with sore, scratchy throats and nasty coughs. As Christmas came around the corner faster than expected, the three forced themselves out of the bridge shelter and into the streets of Manhattan, eager for any who passed by to toss them a coin for their carols. Missy had never gotten better from her cold, flu, or whatever sickness had struck her in the earlier winter months. As time wore on, they knew she was dying. Time and time again they had tried to get the baby away from her and give it to someone who wasn't sick and would live to raise the child, but every effort had failed. Plus Missy was stubborn and didn't want her child left on a doorstep or given to just anyone, so their options were few.

As Missy lay there singing and with her sleeping child at her breast, she gazed at the river's surface as the moon tinted the color of mud brown with it's white rays, making the river appear richer and luxurious than it really was. It during these nights when reality become fantasy that Missy dared to dream and hope. She wanted to live to see Christmas morning when Henry's eyes would light up after she scraped together enough of her money to finally purchase that turkey, or at least that turkey leg. She wanted to see her child take her first steps and speak her first word. She wanted to continue singing with her friends and have someone spot her talent and gave her a job on Broadway. She wanted... Missy sighed as a bewildered Canada goose flapped noisily towards the water and broke the surface of the peaceful, moon-beam tinted waters. As a harsh wind whipped through, Missy stopped her singing, nestled her head against her makeshift pillow, and closed her eyes. Dreaming was pointless. Her best bet was a place in Heaven.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

Missy rose early the next morning. She was half blinded with sleep as she stumbled on the shore in the rising darkness, Charlotte still in her arms. She grabbed her only treasured possession, a perfume bottle still half full, and an envelope that held a two-page letter. Then she slowly made her way up the slope and onto the streets. After five minutes of walking, she was exhausted. Her body was growing weak and her breathing was heavy. People already getting ready for another day brushed past her, sometimes bumping her shoulder or hip, causing Missy to fall back or forward before regaining her composure and continuing. Charlotte awoke soon and began crying. By then, Missy was ready to drop in the middle of the wide sidewalk for a rest. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she kept brushing her hair out of her face, only to have the bangs fall right back in front of her eyes. Eventually she gave up trying and collapsed on a bench in front of a bookstore.

"Oh my baby, my baby," she mumbled to the crying infant, rocking her upper body back and forth. "Please don't cry. These nice people are looking are me strangely. Oh God, where am I to go? Who am I to ask?"

Indeed, the people were looking at her strangely. Especially one man. Missy noticed the way he had stopped looking at the bookstore's window front and kept glancing at her and Charlotte. Every time Missy caught him looking, he quickly glanced away. It made Missy nervous. He was young and dressed no better than herself.

"What?" she finally asked loudly, startling the young man. He pulled at his cap nervously and approached her, even going so far as to sit on the bench next to her.

"Well, uhm. You'se part of that singing group, right?" he asked, his words rushed and tripping over each other.

"'Course I am," Missy said, slightly disappointed he didn't notice her weary state or crying baby.

"Me girl, Meggie," he continued, "she's starting this theater a little ways from here. She's lookin' for singers and performers and I remember she mentioned your name."

Missy stared at him with disbelief. Someone in this big old city knew her name? Knew she sang? Her nose twitched in excitement. Then she laughed. Charlotte cried louder at shaking of her mother's frame.

"Look," Missy said as her laugh died out and she leaned back smiling bitterly, "I got this kid to take care of. I'm getting old. I'm dying. I can't sing."

A shadow of disappointment flickered across the young man's face, but he asked, "If you're dying, and sorry that you are, whose gonna take care of the baby?"

Missy heaved her shoulders up and down. "I dunno. That's what I'm tryin' to figure out."

The two sit in silence on the bench, both trying to think of some solution. The wind whisked by them, breathing not a little lightly on their red faces, as did the people who rushed by on the street. Soon they heard the calls of the newsboys and the hawking of vendor owners arise, creating the distinct sound of street rabble.

"Well, how 'bout this. I'll take your baby to Meggie. She'll want it-"

"Her."

"-her, I'm sure. She loves kids, and babies, and has taken a few in before."

Missy sat up a little straighter. "You means ta say, she'll raise my child? What about you? Are you gonna be some sorta father?"

He pursed his lips and thought about this. "Well sure. I plan on marrying Meggie sometime next year. We's already engaged."

Missy involuntarily let out a squeal of delight and she felt her spirits rise from the rock a foot or two. "Oh, may God almighty bless your soul! You don't know how much I appreciate this! Here, here. Her names Charlotte. Got that?" Missy handed the young man her daughter and he took her into his arms with ease as he nodded. "Charlotte Faye O'Neil. I wrote it in the letter. The letter! Oh- and the perfume!" Missy fumbled for both in her pockets. She stuffed these in the folds of her daughter's wraps. "Give her these when she's 12. Not a day before or after. And please, tell her about me before that. I don't want some shock on her birthday or nothing. And-"

"Ma'am?" the young man interrupted with a smile, "I don't know nothing about you, 'cept that you sing."

Missy bit her bottom lip and nodded. "Right, of course not. Well you know how I look and all that. The rest is in the letter."

"Does she have a father?"

"No. No father," she said and rose. She didn't want to think what else she was forgetting. The letter would explain a lot. "I gotta get back. They'll be wonderin' where I am."

He nodded with understanding and watched her leave. She turned after a couple steps and looked at the young man who held her crying daughter. Tears gathered in her own eyes as she realized what she was doing.

"What's your name?" she asked, staring down at her daughter for the last time. Charlotte Faye O'Neil...

"Henry," he said.

"Oh, God must have mercy on me," she mumbled through her sniffles. She bent down and hugged the man. Then she kissed the chapped, red cheek of her daughter while blessing her in a language the young man guessed was Hebrew. Then she was gone. She left the street and walked out of the man's sight slowly, her body failing her little by little.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

Two days later, back under the bridge, lay Missy by the fireside. Her closest and most loved friends surrounded her, tears trailing down their faces. Henry held her in his lap, as a father would his own daughter. Miriam and Sandra each held a frail hand. They were all murmuring sweet nothings as they watched the light slowly fade from her eyes and the heat leave her body.

Missy broke their string of words. "Henry, Sandra, and dear, dear Miriam, blessings to you all. I loved you like a family and together, we have made it through hard times. I hate to leave you all now, but I don't regret leaving this awful city and damned world," she sucked in a breath before continuing, "I go knowing my baby girl Charlotte is safe, and perhaps I'll watch over her in another form, but Miriam, dear sweet Miriam, please, every now and then, visit that theater where Meggie lives and check in on her. Make sure she's alright and getting enough to eat. Tell her her mother loves her and always will."

Missy let her head fall back into Henry's lap, her breathing growing sharper. Miriam clutched her friend's hand tightly.

"I promise I'll do all that you say, Missy. Rest in peace, please!" she said chokingly. Missy nodded.

A little while longer the four remained there, until four become three and they had the sick job of finding a suitable place to bury their friend.

That night was December 24'th, the night Charlotte Faye O'Neil became a motherless child.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

"What am I suppose to do with her, Henry? I'm trying to start up a theater! I don't have time to raise a child!" Meggie hissed to her fiancée as they both stood staring down at the sleeping baby.

"Well shoah ya do, Megs. You've always been real good at multi-tasking," he said, his hands in his pocket and a big smile on his face, feeling the fatherly love coursing through him already, "I'll help ya, don't worry."

"You?! You don't know squat about children. The only thing you've ever raised was a dog!"

"And a really fine dog it was, too," he retorted. Meggie sighed and crossed her arms against her stomach. She moved to the stove as the kettle started screaming. She quickly silenced it before the baby awoke. In her head, as she poured the tea in two cups, she kept repeating the baby's name. It was a good name, very pretty and elegant. The poor mother who had to give her away was an excellent singer, Meggie knew that from having watched her group in the street multiple times. Perhaps this baby would be a fine investment. If Charlotte inherited her mother's dark beauty and talent, Meggie could turn her into something great. Soon the wheels in Meggie's head began churning. She could teach Charlotte how to play the piano, how to sing properly, she could send the girl to school when she was older, she could learn about Shakespeare and the old great plays Meggie loved. Meggie would be doing Charlotte a huge favor by not only keeping her off the streets, but by educating her and giving her a life far better than most girls in her position. That is, if her theater took off. Meggie let some honey drip into Henry's cup.

"I guess it could work," she said slowly, sitting down at a small table with Henry. He smiled at her and took his cup.

"But," she warned, "you're gonna have to start working. I want to send her to school."

Henry shrugged. "I was already planning on looking into a job at the bookstore. I saw a sign in the window, they need help."

"Oh, the bookstore," Meggie said in a dreamy sigh, "That had always been my dream job when I was a kid. But I was stuck with waiting on tables and doing dishes."

"Yeah, but look where you are now. You're in contract for a theater!"

Meggie took a sip of her tea and nodded. She had come a long way; from the small acts in the theater on Fifth Street to managing to find someone to invest in her own show business. She had a lot of plans for her theater. She wanted big plays, operas, and musicals to fill her stage. She would find the best actors, singers, and musicians. Her theater would be the classy place for the rich folk to go on a Friday evening, the place that charged too much for a ticket.

Meggie glanced over at the baby, thinking how grand a life the girl would have growing up in the midst of it.

"So whadda ya think, Meggie? Did I do right takin' in this baby?" Henry asked, following her gaze.

"Sure ya did. She's gonna be a great kid, I just know it," Meggie replied with a smile. Henry settled back in his chair, looking visibly relieved.

"But we's gotta get married sooner then, Meggie, or else people will think we had Charlotte outta wedlock," he said seriously. Meggie looked over at him. He seemed to be thinking more about this than she was. That's what Meggie liked about Henry. He was strong and steady and had a good head on his shoulders. He would make a good father for little Charlotte.

Meggie nodded. "Sure. I'll talk to my mother about it."

That would be alright, Meggie said to herself, it would save a lot of explaining. Henry said that the mother requested her daughter to know that she was adopted, so they couldn't pretend that Charlotte was their daughter. This was disappointing, but Meggie hoped to have her own child someday with Henry. Till then, Charlotte would be that child. So Meggie, then and there while sipping her orange tea, decided with Henry that they would love Charlotte Faye O'Neil as their own and give her the best that they could. And after that day, Meggie's motherly nature began to show itself and she truly found herself falling in love with the baby with dark curls.


	2. The Blushing Thief

Here's the first chapter, first person and all that jazz. :D

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** 13 years later**

In our apartment, above the theater, there's a window. I call it my window. It has a nice cushioned window seat where I can sit and look down at the street. It isn't a very busy street nor very wide. A lot of people pass by though. I like to watch them and think about each individual. Meggie calls it people-watching, and I guess it is. I, however, call it science, or at least a part of science. Did you ever learn in school or read in a book about experimenting? There's always a process and that process begins with a hypothesis. I like to form hypothesis's and then, if I see them again, theories about the people I watch. Of course, none of my thinking is ever accurate, just pure guessing.

I've got theories on a couple people though. Like the Italian man who owns a hot dog cart. He's at the same street curb every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. He's there when I look out in the morning, but gone by three o'clock in the afternoon. My theory: this is his part-time day job and he'll probably move to a busier street soon where more people are looking to buy hot dogs. There's also the tall lady who, every day around two in the afternoon, is seen shepherding her three children through the street. My theory: she's picking her children up from school and this is part of her shortcut home. And then there's the newsboy who's here everyday from early in the morning to about noon. He always hawks louder than the Italian man or any other vendor, and drives me insane while I'm trying to read. I get distracted when I try and listen to what he's actually saying and then usually fall laughing off my window seat. My theory: this is his place to sell and he'll probably relocate soon to a busier street where more people are looking to buy outlandish stories.

All this thinking eventually leads to me wondering why every person out there has their position that they do in this world. I start imagining the tall woman as a princess in India and the Italian man as one of the men pushing a gondola along the rivers of Venice while singing richly in a deep voice to a pair of lovers. I play with the young newsboy's future and imagine him sailing around the world with a group of pirates like Jim Hawkins or becoming rich and wondering what he'd do with all that money. I start to think about me, and who I'd want to be. But then I realize I'm perfectly happy with who I am. I love living with Meggie and Henry. I love being in the theater business and helping Meggie out, or going to Henry's bookstore the Dragon's Shelf and pricing books. And it's not like I'm confined. Meggie has so many plays to read and watch and Henry has an incredible amount of books in his store that I'm free to flip through anytime. I disappear into other worlds through these things.

But, reality still exists and it always calls me back. My family is still poor, Meggie's theater is struggling, and Henry's getting sick. I have to deal with puberty, schooling myself, and keeping everyone sane.

"Char-o-lette!" called a voice from down the staircase. Meggie always seems to pronounce my name more like 'Chocolate' then 'Charlotte'. So, reality calls. I close my book, leave my windowsill, and come to the top of the staircase. Meggie's standing at the bottom, one hand on her hip and the other holding a battered costume.

I couldn't help but smile. "What happened to Cowboy Hank's costume?"

"The two got in a brawl! Can you believe it?!" Meggie exclaimed, referring to Cowboy Hank and more than likely Cowboy Bill. They didn't have the best offstage relationship...

"Everyone's still alive, right?" I asked, coming down the stairs and taking the shirt. It was torn straight down the middle. I shook my head.

"Yeah, but Cowboy Hank will be played by the understudy now. Mike got pretty banged up. Do you mind fixing it?"

"I'll just make another. I still have some of the fabric left," I said. Meggie hugged me.

"You're the best girl ever, you know that?" she said.

"Shoah I do," I said with a laugh and used a bit of New York accent just for fun, "And I know, I'll try and hurry. Big opening tonight!"

"Oh, yes!" Meggie squealed, "The major's son and his girl promised they come! It'll be a night of rough ridin', cowboy talk, showdowns, and western romance! OH- remember, Charlotte, the horses are coming around four. You said you'll handle 'em, right?"

"Of course! Jones and I are gonna take care of them, don't worry," I said. I was excited for the horses. It was the first time Meggie would have real animals on her stage. Though they were more or less props that would stand tied to a post half the time, it would add a nice flavor to the play.

And Jones, by the way, is my only good friend whose around my age. He and I do a lot together. I only met him last year when he came to the theater looking for a job, but already we are like brother and sister. He is only a year and a half older than me, but he could pass for sixteen. He's really tall, six feet he claims, and has the blondest crop of hair that I've ever seen on a boy. He's really good at acting too. The last play he was in, his character made me cry. And I wasn't the only one in the audience with wet eyes.

I scurried off to quickly piece together another cowboy shirt for Hank, while Meggie scurried to do, well...everything else. I smiled to myself. Meggie was the ultimate director. Everyone loved her and listened to her with respect. Her plays, because of this, were always well made and entertaining, but ill-attended because of the lack of effort Meggie put into advertising. She was so busy with everything else that this was the least of her worries, and thus the least cared for. But I knew the play premiering tonight was expected to draw in big crowds and hopefully revive the theater's reputation.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

The next couple hours were rushed, stressful, and all together crazy. All the cast members were nervous and couldn't seem to contain themselves. I liked watching them because each of them had their own way of releasing their energy and trying to calm themselves. Meggie was near to pulling her hair out. It was five, an hour till the show started, and the horses still hadn't arrived. Jones and I were waiting outside in the theater's alley. My hands were behind my back as I rocked on my heels, occasionally peaking around the corner whenever I heard horse shoes clattering on the street's surface.

I turned around after seeing it was only an police officer and was greeted with a puff of smoke.

"Geeze, Jones. Do you always have to smoke?" I said, offended. I waved the sweet smoke of his cigar out of my face.

"You wouldn't be so disgusted with me if you knew how many other boys my age and younger who smoke," he retorted and stuck the cigar back in his mouth.

I frowned. I didn't care about the other boys, and plus I didn't really know any other boys.

"Shouldn't you be getting in costume?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm in the first scene," he said, the look on his face saying that he didn't have a care in the world.

I groaned, yanked the cigar out of his mouth and pushed him towards the door.

"Go, go! Meggie's gonna have a cow if you're not there!"

"A'right, a'right! I'm goin'" he said and grabbed his cigar before I shut the door on him.

When I turned back around to keep vigil at the alley's entrance, I nearly bumped into another boy. This one I didn't know. But remember, I didn't know any other boys besides Jones. The boy, who looked about Jones' age, blushed and apologized quickly.

"It's alright, really," I said with a smile, "Can I help you?"

I didn't know if that was the proper question to ask, this being an alley. But it was the theater's alley and I worked at the theater.

"Uh yeah, actually," he said and fumbled for something in his pocket. He withdrew a small poster of our play and asked, "Has it started yet?"

I took the poster from his hands and glanced down at the information at the bottom. I glanced up at him. He was shorter than Jones, but still taller than me. And he had the New York accent. He was dirty and dressed sloppily, so I guessed he was a street urchin. No mother I knew would let their child look like that and let him out of the house.

"It starts at six; in about forty-five minutes," I said, and then gave him back his poster. Just then, a carriage rounded the corner and stormed into the narrow alley. I saw it before he did, and pushed both of us out of the way before it ran us over. A man leaped out of the driver's bench. He walked quickly towards me and gave me a few instructions. Then he was gone, practically running out of the place. Probably had a date or something.

I went forward to unhitch the horses, the boy following.

"Are these yours?" he asked, staring at them.

"Nope," I said while beginning to mess with all the leather straps, "they're for the show."

He gave a low whistle. "Anything I can help with?"

I straightened and looked over at him. "Well sure, if you really wanna. I need that ramp over there attached to the door so the horses can get in."

He nodded and got right to work. I kept an eye on him while I unstrapped all the leather buckles and whatnot. I wasn't too sure what Meggie would think about a strange, unknown boy helping, so I asked what his name was.

"Francis Sullivan," he said while dragging the huge wooden ramp over to the door.

I couldn't help but laugh. "That's a real fancy name."

He glanced at me with a proud smile. "It sure is. You can just call me Francis."

"Sure," I said, "Ya know, I always considered Sullivan an evil name."

"Evil?"

"Yeah. It sounds like the name of a mad scientist or a rich villain."

"I wouldn't mind being either," he said with a wicked smile. I grinned back at him.

"What's your name?" he asked. The ramp was now in place and the horses free. I grabbed one by the bridle and he grabbed the other horse.

As I led in the big brown horse horse, I answered, "Charlotte Faye O'Neil."

"Hey, that's pretty fancy too!" he cried from behind me. The brown horse flicked his ears in the direction.

"Ya know what I think of when I hear Charlotte?" he continued.

"What?" I asked. I was leading them through the back hall now. Meggie said I was suppose to take them to the storage room. Supposedly it had been cleared and plastic laid now with hay, our sad equivalent of a stable.

"Chocolate," he said.

I groaned. "That's what everyone says!"

I sort of liked this boy. He was funny, opposite Jones who was always sarcastic and had a sullen attitude. Plus, I enjoyed meeting new people, especially kids around my age.

We tugged the horses down the hall a little more before we came to the storage room. I opened the door and poked my head in. Hay was scattered everywhere and the one window was wide open. Next to the door were the shovels. It would do.

"Here we are!" I said to Francis, leading my horse in and then turning him around.

Francis paused when he stepped him. His horse, a smaller black one, jerked his head when he saw the feed in the corner. The rope flew out of Francis's hands and the horse was free. I quickly ran to unattach the lead rope before the horse tripped over himself and then let my horse go.

I came to Francis's side and we watched the horses eat.

"This isn't much of a stable," he said.

I shrugged. "It's a stall."

"So, shouldn't they have saddles or something?"

"Yeah," I said with a sigh, now remembering that Meggie wanted them saddled. Too bad I didn't know how. "Wanna help?" Maybe he could somehow figure it out.

"Could I?" he asked, his eyes blazing with excitement.

"Well you better 'cause I have no idea how," I said with a sad smile and then went to open to the door. He beat me to it though and held it open for me with a big old grin on his red face.

"Well, gee, thanks!" I gave him a clap on the back. "Ya know, I've always liked gentlemen," I added. He blushed again. I've never known a fellow who blushed as much as Francis Sullivan did.

I proceeded in leading him down the hall further, into the theater and up the stairs where most of our big props were located. Actors, musicians, and other crew passed us along the way. Most of them would either say hey, tell me they needed something, or ask who was with me. I would give them a quick reply or none at all as they flew by. Francis stared at those in full costume as if they had popped right out of an old western dime paperback. He was kind of cute with those big brown eyes trying to take in everything at once. And I just knew that if no one else, Francis would love the play. He seemed to have a bit of cowboy in himself just by the way he handled the leather saddles and placed them gently on the horses' backs.

"I don't think that's right," I said, bending down next to him as his hands weaved the girth into one huge knot. He looked at me, our faces inches a part. I burst out laughing at the flat expression on his face, any possible romantic scene completely destroyed.

He smiled a little. "Well, it will stay on at least. Look." He straightened and grabbed the saddle horn and then tried to jerk it around. It held firmly in its place.

"Well done!" I said while applauding. He crossed his arms with a smug smile. "Now do that with the other saddle," I added. He rolled his eyes but went over to pick it up.

The door opened suddenly and Meggie poked her head in. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped as she saw Francis's bent over figure. She looked at me with a frown.

"Meggie!" I cried, "This is Francis, a new friend of mine!

He spun around with the saddle on his arms, an awkward smile plastered on his face. "Hi!" he said quickly and then slid the saddle on the black horse's back. Meggie narrowed her eyes. Great. She was always suspicious of boys who _dared_ to hang around me, besides Jones of course.

"Francis who?" she asked. Francis looked back at her.

"Francis Sullivan." I loved the way he totally didn't seem threatened. I wondered if he was used to be treated like this. Was he a street urchin who pick pocketed or stole from vendors?

Meggie's face lit up. "Sullivan? As in Lou Sullivan's son?"

Francis stared at her. "Well...yeah."

She laughed and raced towards him, giving him a big hug as he stood there stiffly. I watched in confusion.

"How do you know my father?" Francis asked, voicing my thoughts.

She took a step back, holding him out at arm's length and looking him up and down.

"Geeze, I haven't seen you since you were crawling around in diapers!" she exclaimed. Francis blushed again. "Oh, your father and I dated years and years ago. Heck, I was probably sixteen," she laughed, "In fact, you were the reason we broke up! He was cheating on me and one night he told me he had to get married to a gal he had made pregnant."

Francis's face was getting redder. "Sorry," he muttered. He probably didn't know what else to say.

She waved a hand. "No need to apologize. It wasn't your fault. We weren't in love or anything," she paused, thinking. Then she popped back to reality. "Oh hey, my show's about to start. Fifteen minutes or something crazy like that. You gonna stay and watch Francis?"

"I'm planning on it."

"Good, good," she was halfway out the door now, "Don't pay for the ticket. You've helped me out a lot. I don't know how we would of saddled those horses without you."

I looked over to Francis after she left. He just stood there, staring, not quite sure what to make of my mother, more than likely.

I silently padded over and said quietly, "I hope she just didn't shake your world into a billion pieces, cause you to lose all sense of identity, or help develop a hatred for your father."

He laughed softly and shook his head. "I knew about my mother and all that crap. I'm fine."

"Well good," I said with smile and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Now come on. The show's about to start and the first scene's the best. You can't miss it."

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

In the next couple hours, a lot happened. I'll try and relate it best I can, but the memories are fuzzy. Francis and I sat together in my special balcony. It gets the best view and Meggie gave me full rights to it. Francis, as I expected, was totally wrapped up in the play. He was on the edge of his seat and didn't even notice me glancing over at him now and then to see what his reaction to a certain part would be._ I _noticed that he had a fine profile. Because I had already seen the play akajillion times, I was able to observe the following: Francis probably had not washed his hair in about a week, I could see exactly three pimples from my angle, and the dirt that lay under his nails, the callouses on his fingers, and splinters on his palm suggested that he probably worked at some place like the docks. Maybe he unloaded the boxes. He did look pretty strong. Maybe he was older than fifteen... I jerked my head towards the stage as he caught me looking at him. Now it was my turn to blush. I turned my head towards the stage and tried to focus on the play. The understudy was screwing up his lines. I quickly looked over the the major's son and his date. I groaned inwardly. They were talking, not even paying attention to the play! Poor Meggie...

I felt Francis tap my shoulder. I looked back at him and was surprised by the horrified expression on his face. He was pointing to the stage. I looked and saw that the saddle on one of the horses was slipping slowly.

"Sorry," he whispered. I closed my eyes as the hunk of leather made a huge noise as it hit the stage floor. The whole cast broke the flow of practiced conversation as they glanced back at the horse, who was, most unfortunately, spooking and trying to free himself from the post. The animal ended up dragging the prop off the stage as the cast tried to improvise and the backstage crew appeared and only added to the mess. I plopped back against my chair and watched the whole scene helplessly. Francis tried to get up, but I stopped him.

"It's alright. They'll take care of it," I said in sort of a monotone. He looked guilty and kept wringing his hands, as if he wanted to be down there helping inside of up in this balcony box. The audience was laughing as the crew tried to get the situation under control. Oh, it was a mess. Meggie was right there in the middle of it too, trying to apologize and calm down the audience. I could tell from the strained expression on her face that she was doing her best not to cry or have some sort of emotional break down.

"Well, come on," I sighed and stood. He quickly leaped to his feet, eager to do anything. "They'll need the horses back in the stall."

As we walked down the balcony stairs, Francis groaned.

"I feel awful! This is all my fault!" he cried. It kind of was, so I didn't say anything. I wasn't mad at him or anything. I just felt really bad for Meggie. She probably wouldn't get those rave reviews she had been hoping for, and if this effected the attendance of the rest of the shows, she'd never get enough money to pay off the theater. It's like this: When Meggie opened the theater's doors, the theater was fully funded. But the investor ended up not being able to pay at least half of what he had promised, so Meggie was left with a huge wad of debt. Her and Henry had been paying it off monthly, which automatically had taken me out of school, but lately the theater's owners have been more demanding. Meggie's afraid that they'll set a date soon and threaten to evict us. And I say 'us' because my family lives right above the theater. Thus the immense pressure on tonight's show. And now the immense disappointment...

Francis and I were so preoccupied with calming the horses and putting them back in the stall that we missed the rest of the play. By the time we were done, people were exiting the theater, Francis and I with them. We needed some fresh air after being in the stall/room so long. We both leaned against the wall and let out a big breath. The summer night air was cool and relaxed my nerves.

"Whadda whirlwind," he muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head on the wall. I nodded in agreement, but I should of known it wasn't over yet. Yep, in the next few moments, I got to know Francis Sullivan a whole lot better.

As the people wandered out, they lingered on the sidewalk awhile, laughing and chatting with their friends. Eventually I saw the mayor's son waltz out, cute blondie on his arm. He was in a black suit and she donned a gorgeous red dress. The entourage that trailed after them was dressed equally well. I knew they were rich, and I guess I wasn't the only one who noticed the mayor's wallet jutting out of his pocket like Pinocchio's nose, because when I turned to make comment to Francis, he wasn't there.

I searched the loitering crowd and found him stealthily maneuvering towards the mayor's son. For some reason, or wait, it was obvious, I knew what he was doing. Maybe I had thought too high of Francis... I quickly pushed my way after him, determined to stop him, especially since I saw a mounted police officer conveniently nearby. But I was too late. When I reached Francis, he was already pulling the wallet.

Out of my terrible and rash instinct, I yelled, "Stop, Francis!"

Big mistake. Instantly the mayor's son spun around, catching Francis red-handed. Francis tried to get away, but the mayor's son grabbed him by the arm, yelled at him, and tried to get his wallet back. Francis only made an effort to jerk his arm free as more and more people turned and gasped. The mayor's son raised the cane he had been holding in the air. Horrified that the man might beat Francis, I followed my instinct once again and leaped onto his back. He staggered and I wrenched the cane out of his hands. Then the sound of a shrill whistle caused everyone to freeze. The three of us slowly turned our heads to see _two_ mounted police officers. They were staring at us hard. What a sight we must of made. I was nearly straggling the mayor's son and had the cane raised in one hand, probably looking like_ I_ was about to beat _him_, and Francis had been in the midst of tugging away, wallet in hand. The mayor's son just looked like the poor victim. Francis and I quickly disassembled, me hopping down and dropping the cane while Francis thrust the wallet back into the man's hands. As the policemen dismounted, handcuffs dangling, Francis turned on his heel and made a run for it. It took me a second a register what was happening, the police coming towards me and Francis running. I panicked and did something totally out of character: I ran after Francis. My feet pounded the pavement as I tried to keep Francis in sight. I couldn't hear the policemen behind me, but I kept running away. I was thinking that I couldn't let Francis get out of it and me banished forever to some jail. Eventually I was running besides him. He looked over at me, scrunched up his nose, and then took a sudden turn into an alley. Hah, he was surprised I followed him. I trailed after him and turned into pure blackness. But before I got very far, someone grabbed the back of my shirt and I was jerked back against the wall. I heard Francis's heavy breathing as he pressed me against the wall. I started to protest, but he covered my mouth. We waited a few seconds in silence and soon heard the policemen yelling at each other to go different ways. I shut my eyes and after a few seconds felt a gust of air whip against my face as the policeman ran past us. Francis waited a little longer till he was sure the policeman was far away enough not to hear us, then he released me. I gasped for air, wiped my mouth, and stepped away from the wall.

"What was-" I started to say, but Francis grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction we had came, opposite the direction the policeman had went.

"Don't talk," he hissed, walking in the shadows of the street. I frowned but let him lead me. I was a criminal now, hunted. If anyone saw me, they'd probably want to turn me in a big bounty. I started to think of all the book characters I had read about in my situation and what they did, which was more often than not: trust the person helping them escape. But I didn't want to trust Francis. He was a thief. Lifting boxes, sure, but not at the harbor. Or maybe he did some honest work and then some not-so-honest work. I didn't know. How can you trust someone you don't know anything about?

He led me down a few more alleys and after a couple minutes, I said, "Okay, I'm sure we're far away from them now. Shouldn't we go back?"

Francis looked back at me with a smile. It was a sick, sweet smile, one that he would give to a little kid. I jerked my hand away from him, repulsed.

"Where are we going?"

"To my place."

I swallowed at that. He didn't have his own place, did he? He wasn't that much older than me. I stopped walking and thought for a moment. I didn't want to go to 'his place'. I wanted to go back to Meggie and Henry. They'd defend me and get me out of everything. Oh crap. Meggie. What would she think when she heard? I turned around and started to run back. Francis had noticed then and caught up with me quickly. He grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. He _was_ a lot stronger than me.

"Where ya going?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Home," was my quick retort. I tried to pull away.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, "You can't go back! They'll throw you in the refuge without blinking!"

"I don't care!" I cried and jerked away. I started running again. Francis was determined. He somehow got in front of me and wouldn't let me pass. It was that stupid awkward game when two people were trying to go in opposite directions, but kept getting in front of each other, except he was doing it purposely. I got frustrated and finally tried to push him out of my way. He didn't budge.

"You're not going back," he said in a tone that sounded like a judge's hammer.

I crossed my arms and decided to try reasoning with him. "Why not? My parents will get me out of the Refuge."

He laughed in my face. "What parents?"

I was shocked at this. Did he know my story? How? I fidgeted, but didn't say anything in case he wasn't referring to what I thought he was.

"The Refuge people don't give a crap about orphans, or kids with parents. The law's da law. You'll get at least two week's confinement. And believe me, you don't even wanna stay two seconds in that junkyard," he said.

I cringed, but still didn't say anything. I believed him. I really didn't want to go to the refuge, or be confronted by Meggie.

Francis rolled his eyes, having probably read my face. "And I know, you didn't do anything. But that's not what it looked like. Without a good witness, you're shot."

I looked down. My face was like an open book, Henry always said. I considered it one of my weaknesses and one I tried the hardest to work on.

I tried again. "But my parents, Francis!"

He shrugged. "Gotta fly the nest sometime."

I laughed. I could tell he didn't understand.

"You just don't 'fly the nest' anytime you want," I said, "There's this string called love attaching you and your family. And I'm only thirteen."

"Look," he reasoned, "it'll only be a couple days. The police will forget about it by then and you'll be free to go back. They don't know your name or anything and no big crime was committed."

I sighed. He did have a point. So, did I want to go with Francis? I chewed on my lower lip. In the streets of New York? I looked around me, at the shadows and the trash. The very idea of being an escapee with Francis was scary, but at the same time, sounded deliciously like an adventure. And I had only read about those in books.

* * *

Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts, thanks!!!


	3. Boys and Bulls

Thanks for the reviews Stress and CosmicOasis! I really appreciate them! :D

This one is shorter, but keep in mind, I'm building a lot of foundation in the first few chapters.

* * *

The start of my adventure, or rather, the adventure itself, was not exactly what I had expected. Not that I expected anything really. I guess I had thought that Francis might live in an apartment by himself, or hopefully with a family. But then, I was ready for a box in an alley. I had the fuzzy image in my head of Francis and I walking the streets with hoods on and avoiding any policemen. That was my idea of being an escapee and hiding from the law. But, Francis led me to building, any details were obscured because of the night, where I had to scale the wall to get nto a window and eventually plop in some room where I only heard the sound of a good number of people breathing and was able to see absolutely nothing. The breathing, I was relieved to hear, was probably his family. He then guided me towards a bed and I curled right up. Where he went, I had no idea. I was too tired to care.

The next morning, the light revealed everything. Aside from catching Meggie putting presents under the tree Christmas morning instead of Santa, that time when I cracked my eyes open, expecting to see a nice little apartment, was the worst morning in my life. I saw lots of bunks. Lots of boys. And lots of skin. I instantly shut my eyes and pulled the blanket over my head, hoping that no one would notice me. The room was abuzz with noise. I heard cursing, yelling, fighting, singing, joking, humming, and everything else that could possibly come out of a boy's mouth. I felt the air as boys walked by my bed, was jolted when someone jumped down from the bunk above me, and heard someone probably not more than ten inches away from me say 'Stop pickin' yer nose, Snitch and gimme my glasses!' Oh, where was I? Probably in some orphanage for boys. Was Francis an orphan then? And where was he?!

"Charrrrrlotttte," I heard someone whisper dangerously close to my ear. I recognized Francis's voice and pulled the blanket back just enough to reveal an eye.

He was crouching down next to the bunk, looking at me with a smile. He had a different shirt on and his hair was combed.

"Where am I?" I whispered back.

Francis looked behind him and then glanced to the right and left. When he looked at me again, his face was serious and he had one eyebrow raised. Then he cupped his mouth and said in my ear, "The refuge."

I gasped, though it was more of a frightened squeal, and pulled the blanket back over my eye. I didn't want to be here. I just wanted Meggie and Henry and my books. Then I remembered last night. Hadn't Francis led us to his place? I heard him laughing. I jerked back the covers and sat up straight.

"That isn't funny!" I said, glaring at him. Then I remembered the other boys in the room. A few of them were looking at me. Gah, and some still didn't have their shirts on. I wanted to fly back under my covers, but stood strong.

"Francis, where am I?" I asked again, more desperate than before. I trained my eyes on Francis, determined to ignore everyone else in the room.

"The lodging house. This is where I live," he said and then sat down on the bunk besides me, "Don't worry. It's safe. They won't think to look here."

One boy having heard Francis, called out, "What'd ya do this time, Cowboy?"

I looked at Francis suspiciously.

"Just a nickname," he said to me. That made sense. This group of boys didn't look like they'd call him Francis. Then a few other boys approached us, looking ready for the day with their hats on. I wondered what I looked like. My hair had been curled yesterday and probably still retained some bounciness, but I bet loose strands and frizz were sticking out everywhere. And I was still in a blouse, a skirt, and my good old boots.

"So, Cowboy, whose dis?" one asked. They all looked friendly with grins on their faces. I still didn't trust them. A few even had cigars in their hands.

"Well, dis here, is Charlotte," he said, looking at me, "and what was the rest of it?"

I fidgeted under the boys' gazes. I coughed and said quietly, "Charlotte Faye O'Neil."

There was a brief montage of whistles, 'dat's pretty's, and 'almost as fancy as your's, Cowboy!'. Then they all introduced themselves. There was Mush, curly hair and tan skin, Boots, short and cute, and Kid Blink, eye-patch guy. I didn't commit their names to memory however, for I was sure and almost determined that I wouldn't be here that long. I didn't know these people, or Francis for that matter. I didn't belong here. As they left, and Francis started telling me little stories about each of them, I pushed the blankets out of my way and stood up. I shook out my skirts, straightened my blouse, and ran my fingers through my hair.

I glared at him as he stopped talking and stared at me. I hated when boys did that. I didn't want anyone to like me or stare at me. That was for girls looking to get married. And I didn't want to get married. All I wanted was to live with my family and read books.

He blushed and continued telling me about Boot's past life as a shoeshiner. Him blushing made me feel a little bit better, like he was the same person I had trusted when he strapped the saddles on the horses' backs. Here, he was more confident and I guess himself. This was his terf and I was the new kid. Understandably so.

When he was finished, I asked, "So? What's on the agenda?"

We left with the other boys leaving the room. I stuck to Francis's side like a leech. He didn't seem to mind. We left the house and traveled down the road. On the way, Francis explained what was going to happen. I didn't hear too much of it because I was too busy looking at everyone and everything. I had never been on this street before, but I knew it was called Newspaper Row. All the big newspapers had their office buildings here. I saw men in suits, men with big cameras, and boys scurrying in the same direction our little newsie group was traveling. I frowned, feeling like the only female on the street.

"And that's how you sell a pape," Francis finished saying. I jerked my head over to look at him. What? But we had stopped in front of a big green gate and I couldn't asked for a summary. Here was a huge line of boys, all waiting, I guess, for the gates to open. I had more difficulty staying with Francis as he wandered to different boys. I ignored all their curious looks and questions and tried to be transparent. It obviously wasn't working, because everyone kept bumping into me and then staring at my skirts. I did feel out of place. Everyone here was decked out in a pair of britches and some other odd apparel that gave each boy a unique look. In fact, I think they resented me. Especially the younger ones. Every now and then someone would look at me and then stick their nose in the air. As each minute passed, I began to wonder if being female was a sin.

Finally, a bell rang, the gates swung open, and everyone made a scramble. I hung back, even as Francis made a dash. I saw a new line form inside. Now alone, I crossed my arms uncomfortably and glanced around. I saw one boy sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall. He was smoking and looked almost depressed. Bored, and not totally sure what to do, I watched him for awhile, wondering why he was so sad and why in the world he was smoking. I realized that Francis would probably be awhile, so I decided to be bold and approach him. I did it quietly, only sitting down next to him and mimicking his position.

He peeped out from under his hat and glanced over at me. I pretended not to notice and just kept staring ahead, like he had done.

He went back to being miserable and there was a minute or so of silence. I tried to think of what to say. Something encouraging yet not overly bubbly and annoying.

"Who are you?" he muttered just as I was about to open my mouth.

"Charlotte," I answered, figuring this was a good enough answer for a boy who lived in a society that dubbed their members by objects, traits, and other random things.

"No, no," he said, "_Why_ are you here? I haven't seen you around."

"I-" I started, then paused. Did Francis want to have everyone know?

"Your Cowboy's girl, aren't ya?" he asked, his eyes narrowing and he looked away. I laughed at that.

"No, no, I'm just a friend," I said. He grunted. How old was he? Twelve?

"So, how come you're not in line like the others?" I asked when he said nothing.

"Don't got any money to buy today."

I frowned. Buying the papers? What Francis said came back to me. They would sell them for double the price, if I remember correctly. Ouch, I would probably fail and not sell half my papers and thus lose a good deal of profits. I hope Francis wasn't expecting me to sell today.

I dug in my pockets and came up with only a quarter.

"Here," I said, taking his hand and giving it to him. Charity, sure, but it would get me out of any possibility of selling. I had one crisp dollar bill left, and wouldn't dream to waste that on papers.

He looked at it and then looked up, his face hard. "You don't have to, ya know."

I shrugged. "I don't need it. Really."

Right after I had said those words, he was off. It was like he was afraid I was going to change my mind or something. I watched as he sped around the corner and into the gates. In his place came Francis walking towards me. He had a pile of papers under his arm and his newsie cap was tilted so that I couldn't see his eyes. I smiled. The whole newsie garb was kind of cute with it's sloppy vests, crooked hats, and dangling suspenders. Meggie had a play with a whole bunch of actors who played street kids. I had spent a good deal of time collaborating the costumes. They were sort of similar to what these newsies wore.

I looked up at him and shielded my eyes as he stopped in front of me.

"Well," he said, "What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to go home," was my automatic answer.

He rolled his eyes. "We've been over this."

"Then I'd like a tour of the city," I tried again.

He reached out a hand to help pull me up. "A tour of my selling spot."

"Fine." I got to my feet and started following him. I wondered if he had a boring old street like my newsie did, the one who stood by the theater.

On our way, I decided to finally ask some questions. Our conversation went like this:

"I still can't figure out why you would want to steal that guy's wallet."

"Why not? It probably had a kajillion dollars in it."

"That's stealing."

"Yeah, I know the ten commandments, Charlotte."

"And the law?"

"The law?"

"How old are you anyway?"

"About sixteen."

"Do you smoke?"

"Uh, occasionally. My turn. You said you'se was thirteen, right?"

"_Almost_ fourteen."

"Sheesh, just a kid. Do you go to school or have any education?"

"Sure I do. I love to read."

"Grand! So you know a lot of big words. How would you dress up a headline saying that the mayor is getting a divorce?"

"Ouch... I guess I would say something like 'Marriage isn't for our mayor, is commitment?'"

Francis laughed and slapped me on the back. "Hey, that's actually pretty good! I'll use that one. And it don't stretch the truth!"

"Oh ho," I said with a big grin, "You're worried about lying now?"

"Puh, I was just sayin' that's it's convenient and one less lie," he said. I shook my head. We rounded another corner and I was surprised to be greeted with a bustling street teeming with bodies and all modes of transportation. Francis grabbed my hand then and began to worm his way through to the other side of the street. I was smiling at everything and everyone we bumped into. It was so exciting to see all these different faces and objects.

"Francis, look!" I cried and pointed with my free hand to three boys in the midst of a hard fight. He barely glanced over, nodded, and then focused on dodging the next oncoming wagon. Finally we stood on the opposite sidewalk of the road. Vendors and people walking to different destinations crowded the space, but Francis walked right over to and leaped on an attempted piece of city landscaping, a heavy clay pot with dying flowers crumpled against matted soil. I watched for about five minutes as he hawked, sold papers, collecting tips, etc. I got bored pretty quick and told Francis I was going to wander up the street a little ways and see if I could find any way to amuse myself. He agreed and made me promise to be back within the hour. A whole hour to do whatever I wanted. Well, on this street anyway. I was hoping for a book store like Henry's or maybe an ice cream parlor or something. I wanted to meet someone, watch something, do anything out of the ordinary! This was New York City for crying out loud.

So, with a smile and fierce determination, I pushed through the throngs of people and stopped at nearly every shop. So many people! At one point, I came to a small general store squeezed in between two other shops. Seeing something that Meggie would like in the window, and having that dollar left, I decided to buy it as some sort of peace offering. I don't know what I was thinking, it was a stupid gift. But there I was at the counter, purchasing a cowboy hat. It just made me think of Meggie and all her hard work. Plus, she liked cowboys.

On the way back down the street, you wouldn't be surprised to know that I ran into someone and both of us ended up on the sidewalk. The packages the girl had held in her arms went tumbling everyone. We both scrambled to sit up, muttering apologies all the while, and quickly gathered the boxes before some little street urchin ran up and stole them.

She looked poor and dirty like Francis did and kept tucking loose doe brown strands of hair behind her ear. She was really pretty though with a fine upturned nose, pale skin, and the most beautiful clear blue eyes I've ever seen. She was smiling too, and in a way that suggested that she was always smiling. Like it was just part of her facial features.

We both stood then, looking at each other with blushes.

"I'm Angie," she said, sticking her hand out of her pile of boxes.

"Charlotte," I said and then shook her hand. "Do you need help? I mean, carrying the packages somewhere."

She smiled even wider. "Boy do I ever. Thanks!"

Angie handed me two or three of the packages and then started back down the road, explaining where she was going as we walked.

"See, I work at this store just around the block. It sells stuff like fabric and sewing tools. It's not much pay, but I like it. I sometimes take on the sewing orders that we get in. Rachel, she's the owner, tells me I'm getting better and better."

She rambled on and on until we stopped in front of the shop. We were on a different street now, and I began to wonder if Francis would mind. But then I realized _what _street we were on. As Angie fumbled with the door, I peered down the road and found myself recognizing a lot of the shops.

"Hey, hey Angie," I said, "My father owns a bookstore on this street!"

She looked back as she pushed open the door. "The Dragon's Shelf, you mean?"

"Yeah! That's the one!"

We walked into a small room, the counter on the left hand side of the room with a old, fat woman behind it. The walls were lined with fabric practically oozing off the shelves. I, being one of the theater's costume designers, found myself rooted to the spot, staring at all the colors and textures. Of course I had been to a fabric store before, this was just my usual reaction. It never got old.

"I love that place! I go there every week and just read!" Angie cried, her voices disappearing as she disposed of the packages in some back room.

"Whose this, Angie?" asked the old woman as she glanced up at me every now and then with a frown from her cash register. I looked over at her with a peppy smile.

"I'm Charlotte. I knocked her over on the sidewalk and ended up helping her carry stuff," I said quickly.

"Oh, well, then go put that stuff in the back. Where Angie went."

"Sure," I said and headed for the door that Angie had disappeared through. I found her shoving the packages on crowded racks of other packages. I laughed. She spun around and took the boxes off my hands.

"Thanks again for helping me," she said while she used her tiptoes to reach a higher shelf.

"No problem," I replied, watching with my hands behind my back.

"So, do you live around here?" she asked as she dusted off her hands and led me back into the main room.

"Kind of. I live above the theater a couple streets away from here."

"Oh! I think I've passed that once or twice. Does your family own that as well?"

She was behind the counter now, reaching down to pull out a box of scraps. She probably thought I was rich, owning so many places. But not really. Henry had only acquired the bookstore through many years of loyal hard work. But when the owner retired, he just handed it over to him.

"Not really," I said, "we're still trying to pay it off. Do you live somewhere around here?"

She nodded. "In an apartment with my family."

"Ohhhh," I said with a smile, "You have siblings?"

"Yeah, they're all younger though."

"And how old are you?"

"I'm fifteen. How about you?"

"Thirteen."

"Wow, you look a lot older."

And so our getting-to-know-each other game would of continued, had not Francis burst through the door. We both turned our heads at the sudden gust of wind. He looked like he had been running. I frowned. How had he known I was here?

"Hi, can I help you?" Angie asked with a bright smile, thinking he was just another customer. He ignored her completely as he came up and grabbed my hand.

"Charlotte! Come on, we gotta run!" he panted. He started tugging me towards the door.

I looked back at Angie and waved. "It was nice getting to know you! I gotta go! See ya around, k?"

She nodded, looking very confused. Francis pulled me through the door and into the street.

"What's a'matter, Francis?" I complained as we started running.

"The- the-" he began to say, but as we turned around the corner, we both ran straight into the arms of a two men. I looked up and froze.

"-bulls," Francis finished in whisper.

* * *

So, not much time to roam the streets, I know. But don't worry, it gets better!!

Please review and tell me what ya think! Thanks!


	4. Confinement

"All rise. All rise. Court is now in session. Judge Harborrow presiding," called out someone as Francis and I entered the room, handcuffed and being led by one of the policemen. I was angry, furious, with both Francis and the policeman. I could kick them both. Francis didn't look much happier.

I looked around the small courtroom and was surprised to see the mayor's son waiting, along with Meggie. That was it. I felt my face heat up. I didn't know she would be there! How embarrassing. I gathered enough courage to glance over at Meggie. Oh, she was mad. Her expression was hard and dead set staring at me. I looked quickly back down at my boots as we were led up to the front before the judge.

He listed out our offenses and then asked the mayor's point of view. Of course, he told the plain truth, which was horrible in itself. There was no need for exaggerating. Then the judge asked our point of the story. I spoke first, defending my position, and when I was done, the judge asked if I had any witnesses to prove my defense. Of course I didn't. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but just then I heard the doors creak open. I whipped my head around to see Jones sauntering in.

"I witnessed it, yer honor," he said, pushing through the gate and coming up besides us.

"Proceed," the judge said with a raised brow. Jones glanced over at me with an unreadable expression that was close to disappointment. I averted my eyes.

"It's like this, yer honor, I was just exitin' the theater, helping this old lady by carryin' her coat. Then I saw that boy, whatever his name is," here Jones pointed to Francis with a heavy look of dislike, "sneak through the crowd and try to steal the guy's wallet. Charlotte saw him too and tried to stop him. The guy figured out what was goin' on and caught the kid and tried to beat him with his cane, but Charlotte tried to stop that too and ended up herself with the cane. That's what I saw."

I breathed a sigh of relief and gave a big smile to my friend, but he only returned it with a cold glare before his eyes flickered over to Francis.

"Thank you, young man. You're free to go," the judge said, "Charlotte O'Neil, I sentence you two weeks confinement in the New York House of Refuge for resistance against the law. Francis Sullivan, your three month sentence is extended to six months for disruptive behavior and also resistance against the law. Move along."

"What?" Francis burst out, "How's that fair? She only gets two weeks and I get six months?"

Jones left, a sob erupted from Meggie's cold visage, and Francis and I were escorted out of the room by the same policemen. While Francis struggled and yelled out his defense, I left the room with heavy feet and tears forming in my eyes. That was it. I was a convicted criminal and on my way to the Refuge, just like a common street urchin.

We were tossed in a carriage and carried away. Francis and I sat for a moment in silence, tension weaved thickly through the air.

"Ya know, Francis, I thought you could run faster," I muttered. He jerked his head away from the window.

"What?"

"From the bulls. I thought you were street smart and could get out of anything. You said we had a couple days and they wouldn't find us," I explained, staring at nothing in particular.

He shrugged. I turned to him and spat angrily, "I should of never followed you! I should of stayed at the theater and Jones would of witnessed for me and I wouldn't have the crime of resisting the law hanging over my head."

"Oh yeah, Charlotte, like this is all my fault," he said sarcastically.

I huffed and crossed my arms, turning to glare out the window.

"At least you only got two weeks! Sheesh, you should be taking pity on me," he said.

"Oh, shut up!" I cried, "I didn't attempt to steal the wallet, you did! I didn't do anything wrong, besides following you!"

"Yeah, why did you follow me?" he asked, looking at me coldly. I gazed back at the window quickly.

"I- I... it was instinct! Sorry!" I said.

He shook his head and ran a finger through his hair. The daylight streamed in through the carriage's windows as we flew down different streets. I almost began to cry as I saw Angie's shop.

"Whatever," he muttered, "I'll be out of there before that anyway."

"Sure, Francis, sure," I said sarcastically. The rest of the ride was quiet save the sound of street rattling under us. Remembering Meggie, I slipped the cowboy hat off my neck and fingered it in my hands. I couldn't believe I had thought that after the courtroom session, I would be free to go and I could happily offer the hat to Meggie and everything would be better again. She was probably so disappointed in me, but hopefully Jones testifying saved me from some wrath. Oh, good old Jones. He was always there for me, always watching out for me. I could tell he didn't like Francis though, but that didn't say much. He didn't like any boys I hung out with besides himself. I knew he had good reason, he having been out in the world a lot more than I have. I looked up and caught Francis staring at the hat. Then the carriage came to an abrupt halt and I knew we were there. The carriage door opened and I suddenly felt like I couldn't move. But the man grabbed my arm and I was soon being led up the Refuge's gates, Francis behind me. As we entered the courtyard, I looked back as the gates were closing. Already I felt like a caged animal. They took us in different directions, Francis to the left and I to the right. I was mad at Francis, but I was afraid to go in without him. He knew about everything and had been here before, I didn't. And he was the only person I knew. As I was led into a bunk room, much the newsies', and twenty different pair of eyes stared at me, I felt incredibly lonely. They were all girls who were dirty, tired, and overall looked miserable. There were a few younger ones, but most of them looked older than me. As the guard left me and I stood rooted to the spot by the door, I realized these were New York City's thieves, pickpockets, and vagrants, not the chicks who you'd hope to make friends with or keep company.

The oldest looking girl and two others approached me, a sort of welcoming committee, or so I hoped.

"We ain't got any spare bunks," said the oldest girl in a surprisingly quiet, kind tone.

"Oh, that's okay," I was quick to say, "I don't mind the floor."

She nodded and stuck out her hand. "Name's Queen."

I shook it and said, "Charlotte."

That day, my first day in the Refuge, I got to know most the girl's names and talk to a few. They weren't that bad and some I actually got along with. They were like one big family, each trying to help make the most of their sentence. It wasn't that bad, really. Sure, we didn't have the best living conditions and everyone who worked there treated us like brats, but I found out that we would actually be working during the day and going to the Refuge's makeshift school. I, being a productive person, was happy to hear this, my mental image of the Refuge being sitting in a cell all day.

That night, the girls gathered around Queen's bunk. I sat down next to Victory, a girl who I had talked to before dinner. I listened contentedly as a few of the girls shared stories and told why they were there, and then the conversation unexpectedly shifted to a topic I knew too much about.

"So," Queens said while leaning against the wall, "You guys see Cowboy today?"

It me a second to match the name with the Francis I knew.

"You mean, he's back?" one of the girls asked, her eyes lighting up. I frowned as a nervous buzz of excitement erupted from the circle. So, he hadn't been lying. He had been here once or twice and probably more than that, judging from Queen's knowledge of his criminal record. I was blushing as their conversation continued from there. Apparently I was blind and Francis was drop-dead gorgeous. He was the macho, cool criminal who had even picked a couple fights with a high and might name that was unfamiliar to me, Spot Conlon. Unfortunately, they picked up on my confused expressions and launched into a whole big explanation about who Cowboy was. And they just called him Cowboy too. I sat quietly and listened, at some point almost laughing. He had a big reputation built up here, and I was half-tempted to shred it into a million pieces. And I would too, except I would be too guilty about destroying half of these girls' dreams along with it.

"Have you ever seen him, Charlotte?" one of the girls asked after they had thoroughly explained enough of Francis to make me want to puke.

I nodded, "Yeah, but not here in the refuge."

"Where?" said a couple of them quickly and excitedly.

"Selling probably," answered another one of the girls in a bored voice. I shook my head.

"Nope," I said, "At the theater. My theater."

"Theater?"

"You own a theater?"

"Wait, so you've met him before?" Queen asked, sitting up. They were liked tigers pouncing on any juicy information. I smirked and decided to relish the knowledge I had.

"Of course I have! We're frie- well, we're partners in crime," I said. It was the truth, we were. In some odd way. The girls prodded me on, demanding to know everything I knew. I started, but was quickly cut off when someone yelled out from the door, "I hear her!" There was a mad scramble as everyone made a dash for their bunks and the room grew incredibly quiet. I didn't budge, confused.

"Charlotte, get in your bunk!" I heard Queen hiss.

"I don't have a-"

The door swung open and in came a tall, heavy set woman with one cane in her hand. I stared up at her as she came to stand directly above me. She looked down with a frown and tapped the cane against her palm. I smiled.

"What are you doing in the middle of my floor?" she asked coldly.

"Why, sitting, Ma'am."

There was a giggle that was quickly muffled.

She frowned even deeper. "Get to your bunk."

"I haven't got a bunk, Ma'am."

She quickly glanced around the room, girls dodging under their blankets.

"Well, this won't do. Harold, fetch me another bunk," she said to the man behind her.

"Ma'am?"

"Bah, we haven't got any more, have we?" she muttered and then grabbed me by the collar, yanking me up off the ground. I waved silently to the girls as I was dragged out of the room.

"Stupid police. They think we have all the room in the world here for you kids," she continued to rant as we went down the hall. It was dimly lit with only windows at both ends of the hall. She led me to down the stairs to the ground floor and opened the door to a room with two beds.

"Here, this is the sick room. You'll have to stay here till we can get another bunk," she said, pushing me in. "And don't try anything."

The door closed and I heard it lock. As I went over to a bed and started to take off my shoes, I reached for the cowboy hat around my neck. My hands froze as I realized it wasn't there.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

I'm not going to explain every detail of my two weeks. That would take too long and you would get bored quickly. I'll summarize it though. We went to school in the morning, worked from the afternoon into the evening, ate dinner, did another hour of school, then did whatever in the bunk room till the matron came and blew out the candles and counted heads at eight. I got to know all the girls a lot better and even made a few friends. The work was tedious, making household items for the Refuge like sheets and whatnot, and the school easy. Meggie came and visited me once or twice. I was able to explain what had happened, and she seemed to understand. She was depressed. I could tell by the way her eyes were filled with sorrow and there was no energy in her voice or body language. She told me that Henry was dying. This jolted me and drove me to my own depression. Henry was my only father figure and he and I had a good relationship. It was because of him that I had a love of books.

The day after I found out was my last day at the Refuge. I met with Francis at our usual time in our usual spot, which was a little before the work period ended, so we only met if we got done early. Yes, we had grown to be friends again. After a brief argument, we both apologized and forgave each other. The girls hated to see me talking with him, but they knew I didn't like him. He was only a friend. They were just jealous, and I had fun teasing them constantly.

"What's a'matter, Charlotte?" he asked, leaning against the wall. We were in sort of alley of the Refuge, a small gap between the males' south and north division buildings. Francis stayed in the north division, the dorm for more older and "vicious" boys. He was also a class three boy. Queen said that that meant he was a class just below the worst. It was some kind of ranking of behavior. I didn't know my rank, but I didn't really care since I would be leaving tomorrow.

I leaned against the opposite wall with my arms crossed. I hadn't told anybody yet, but the girls had asked about my moodiness.

I looked down at my toes. "My father, Henry, he's dying."

Francis pushed himself off the wall and was instantly at my side. "Whadda ya mean? Did someone try and murder him?"

I shook my head, tears gathering in my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of Francis though, so I ended up making this pathetic choking sound. "He's been sick for awhile now."

"Awuh, Charlotte," he said softly. I was surprised when he put his arms around me, but didn't take a moment of hesitation to wonder why, instead I took advantage of human contact and comfort and buried my head in his shoulder and cried my eyeballs out. By the time I was done, we had slid down to the alley floor and I was leaning against his chest. We were late for dinner, but I felt so much better. Francis was telling me about the time he had to be separated from his father, which shifted my attention away from problems to his and gave me comfort to know that he really understood. Sitting there in his arms and talking about something we both experienced, I felt like I suddenly had the brother I always wanted, even the best friend I always wanted.

"Charlotte!" cried someone from the end of the alley desperately, "Charlotte! Hurry! She's gonna whip us all if you don't get in that dining room now!"

I scrambled to my feet and dusted off my skirts and then held out a hand to help Francis up. We both walked out of the alley kind of slowly. I was trying to wipe away all traces that I had been crying, but unfortunately, Francis's shirt was soaked and my face was red. It always got red when I cried.

I laughed weakly as I wiped my eyes. "Gah, I look like a watermelon, I'm sure."

He looked over with a small smile. "Nah." He was quiet now and looked like he was thinking, his hands in his pockets. I hoped I hadn't brought up bad memories of his father or anything.

"Thanks, Francis," I said as we were walking up the stairs to the dining hall. He smiled again and held the door open for me.

"No problem."

I think it was because of that day that we became really close friends. While we ate dinner, I realized that tomorrow I'd have to leave Francis and all the friends I had made here. Was it possible that I didn't want to leave? I guess. I was going home to a dying father and a depressed mother. Back to the lonely life of reading at my windowsill and making costumes for Meggie... A pang reverberated in my stomach and I suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. Victory gladly took my soup and I sat the rest of the meal in silence, watching Francis from across the room and listening to my friends talk. I wouldn't see Francis for another five months or so and my friends for who knew how long.

"Charlotte," Queen said, "You have to come back and visit. Promise, okay?"

I redirected my eyes from Francis to Queen. "Can I? How?"

"Come next Monday!" a girl named Candy said.

"Yeah! Monday! The governor's coming down to give a speech or something to motivate us bad kiddies to do good," Queen said, rolling her eyes.

"Is it public?" I asked, hope lightening my morbid thoughts.

"Not entirely, but I'm sure they'll let in a few kids," Queen said.

"I'll be there then!"

So there. I had something to look forward to when I got back. I would just have to sneak out, because I was sure Meggie wouldn't let me come back.

xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox

The next morning, I packed whatever I had and went out into the courtyard to wait for Meggie. I felt lonely standing there as all the kids rushed to school and breezed past me. I had said goodbye to my friends in the bunk room and had made plans for next Monday. I was just thinking that I hadn't said good bye to Francis whens someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around and saw him smiling sheepishly and holding a cowboy hat.

"Francis! You stole it!" I exclaimed with a smile. I snatched it back.

"Sorry! I couldn't resist. I liked it and wanted to make you mad," he said, blushing. I loved it when he blushed.

"You didn't make me mad, I just didn't know where it was! I thought I had dropped it or something," I said, "Oh, it's all dirty and wrinkled now. I can't possibly give this to Meggie. I think she'd be offended."

He laughed. I heard carriage wheels rumble from behind me. Both of our faces became somber. I gave him a hug. He deserved it, after what he had done for me yesterday.

I pulled away and shoved the cowboy hat in his hand. "Here," I said, "You take it."

He stared down at it, "You don't-"

"No, it's okay. I want you to have it. You can remember me by it, or something like that."

The carriage was parked behind me now, waiting. I glanced back and saw Meggie in the window.

I turned back to Francis. "I'll be back Monday for a visit."

His head shot up. "Really? For Teddy Roosevelt's speech?"

I nodded and heard Meggie stepping out of the carriage.

His eyes flickered over to her, then he quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me close.

"That Monday, I'm goin' to get outta here, and I need your help, alright?" he whispered in my ear. I drew back a little and shook my head.

"No way, Francis! You can't-" I started to stay. Meggie was fast approaching.

"Just think about, okay?" he said and tried to smile as he let go of me.

"Just go! Before she comes over here and rips your guts out," I hissed, and turned him in the right direction.

He looked back. "Bye, Charlotte!"

I waved quickly and then turned to Meggie. She had a snarl on her face as she watched Francis leave. None the less, I smiled and hugged her. I had missed her.

"Come on, let's get outta of here," she said and quickly guided me to the carriage. I stepped up and settled into the seat as she came around the other side.

"What was he saying to you?" she asked as the carriage took off.

"Oh," I replied, "just goodbye."

Meggie shook her head. "The nerve of that boy..."

"Meggie, he isn't all that bad. Remember what I told you last time you visited? It was my fault. I shouldn't of ran with him," I said, "He's a good boy, really."

Okay, well deep down he was good boy.

She huffed. "I can't believe that my Charlotte, the best girl in the whole wide world, was thrown into the Refuge. That's gonna scar your records forever. Forget trying to get into a decent school, dear."

As the carriage pulled up the our theater, the bottled up feeling of homesickness overwhelmed me. I flew out of the carriage and up to our apartment, anxious to see Henry. I burst through the door and started calling his name while heading to the room I was sure he was in. Peeking my head into his room, my eyes went straight for the bed. I frowned. It was empty, but neatly made. I sped down the hall. Perhaps he was in the study. Room after room I looked. But he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. Meggie came trudging through the door then.

"Where is he, Meggie? Where?" I cried, raking a hand through my dirty hair over and over again. I knew the answer. I knew it. I started to cry. Meggie came over and held me in her arms. She started to cry too.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry," she said, rocking us both back and forth. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. Henry was gone.

* * *

**A/N**: I know what you're thinking: Wait, how come Charlotte had so much fun at the Refuge? That's messed up. Well, I did a little research on the Refuge and stumbled upon a New York Times article from the 1860s. The article was all about the Refuge's history and what kind of institution it was. It even went to describe in detail what the kids did each day. Everything you read about classes, north and south divisions, etc. is true, unless of course things changed dramatically in the 1890s. Truth be told, the article made it sound like that the Refuge was more of an orphanage or lodging house than a prison. So there's your little history tidbit. If anyone wants the link to the article, just PM me. :D

Oh, haha, look, a new little review button! Click it, click it!


	5. Medda

Hehe, I pulled a line from one of my favorite youtube videos. I wonder if anyone will notice it...

* * *

The apartment, after that night, forever had this empty, quiet atmosphere. For some reason, as I laid in my own bed the next morning, I had a feeling things would never be the same. It was just a gut feeling, and at the time, I didn't know how real it was.

I slept in, anyway, and when I decided that the sun had been up too long for any person to stay in bed, I wrapped myself in blankets and padded into the kitchen. The kettle was on and I saw Meggie's bent over form at the table. I plopped down at the table and watched her. She was holding up different papers and scanning them with a creased brow. Uninterested, I moved over to the stove and started to cook some eggs. As I was trying to push away thoughts of Henry and focus solely on perfecting my omelet, Meggie suddenly said, "I'm going vaudeville, Charlotte."

I dropped the spatula and turned around. "Vaudeville? As in raunchy, dirty, a pathetic attempt at a production vaudeville?"

She didn't say anything but set the papers down and straightened them into a nice stack. I came to sit down next to her.

"It isn't that bad yet, is it Meggie?" I asked quietly. Meggie put an elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand. She still didn't say anything and my omelet was burning. I went back to the stove, new thoughts swirling in my head.

"I'm going to the graveyard today," I announced, flipping over my eggs. Maybe Meggie wasn't serious. Maybe she was just sad about Henry dying. Yeah, that was it.

She mumbled some sort of agreement and then exited the room. I frowned as I sat down at the table with my omelet. Poor Meggie. This had to be hard on her. Henry and her had had the best marriage that I've ever known. I think they even courted two years before they actually got married. Then I came along somehow and I became their only child. Meggie found out she couldn't have children. I think that's the only time I remember Meggie being depressed. Meggie's always been kind of steady and calm, and despite the stressful times, that's why she's such a good director.

So anyway, I was going on yet another adventure today. Somehow, I was going to get to the graveyard at Trinity Church. How? Well, I had no idea. But I was sure that Angie would know. I wanted to get to know her better and for some odd, odd reason, I really wanted to hit the streets again. I missed that freedom that I had experienced so briefly.

I finished eating, got dressed quickly, tied up my boots, and set off. If Angie hadn't of lived on the same street that the bookstore was on, I probably wouldn't of known where to go. But I did, and found her workplace in a decent amount of time. I entered the shop and was relieved to see that the old woman wasn't there, and Angie in her place. She looked up from shuffling receipts as the door squeaked open at my entrance.

"Charlotte!" she cried with a smile.

"Hey Angie," I said, returning her smile as I came up to lean against the counter, "I'm back."

"No one's pursuing you this time, right?" she asked with a smirk.

"How'd you know?" I asked, my mouth agape. She shrugged and put the receipts in a small box.

"I figured as much."

So, she was smart too. "I need your help," I said before she could ask anymore questions.

"Oh really?" she asked with a raised brow, "With what?"

"I need to get to Trinity Church."

She nodded. "My break's in about an hour. Can you wait that long?"

I nibbled on my lower lip. An hour? "Is there anything I can help you with? I wouldn't know what to do with an hour," I said. Actually I did. I would go down to the bookstore. But I didn't want to do that. Meggie had hired a new manager and I didn't want to see what was happening down there.

"Well sure! Remember all those packages?" she asked, "They're full of new fabrics that needs to be shelved. Would you mind?"

I shook my head. "Would love to."

I dragged out a couple of the packages into the main room and started ripping them open.

"So, are you going to tell me?" she asked as I pulled out different colors of fabrics.

"Tell you what?"

"About what happened two weeks ago!"

Geeze, two weeks ago... So much had happened since then!

"I dunno," I said, "You might think the less of me."

"Nonsense!" she cried, "Come on! Tell me at least who ran in here and grabbed you. He was cute, by the way."

I laughed and shook my head. "That's what everyone says, but I can't see it."

"Psh," she said, "it's only 'cause your thirteen. Wait till you're my age."

I glared at her. "That was Francis. The past two weeks, I've been in the Refuge with him. We're criminals."

She looked at me disbelieving. "Now, really, what's the true story?"

"That is the true story! Who do you think we were running from?"

She shook her head. "What'd you do?"

I explained the whole story, about when I met Francis at the theater, meeting the newsies, and my whole time in the Refuge. When I was done, she was staring at me.

"Wow," she breathed, "So you just got out of the Refuge yesterday?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I was actually kinda sad to leave. I made friends and got to know Francis a whole lot better."

"So wait, why do you want to go to Trinity Church? To repent of your sins?" Angie asked.

I looked down at the scarlet red fabric in my hands. I hadn't told her about Henry yet and I didn't want to talk about it. Luckily the door squeaked open just then and in came a customer looking for creamy purple silk. I shelved some more fabric, and by the time Angie was finished, the hour was up and we were able to leave.

It was getting near noon when we set out in search of the church. Angie said she was pretty sure she where it was and it wouldn't take more than half an hour to get there. However, I ended up walking more than I would of liked and a blister was forming on my right heel from my boot.

"Angie, are we almost there?" I asked after forty-five minutes had passed. She was peering down roads and alleys and pausing for a minute or so at each fork.

"Well, to be honest, I don't really know," she said with a small giggle. She thought it was funny! I groaned.

"I thought you said you knew!"

"I did! I really did! But I think I took a wrong turn when we saw that really cute guy back-"

"Angie!" I cried. She giggled again and blushed.

"Sorry, terribly sorry."

I think I almost had Angie figured out. a) she was boy-crazy and b) she was directionally challenged. Then I saw at cute little restaurant across the street us and was suddenly aware of how hungry I was.

"Well," I sighed, "Let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"Something to eat? You got money?" she asked with a frown. I nodded.

"Yeah, Meggie knew I would be gone for awhile so she gave me some cash. I can buy for ya, don't worry," I said and crossed the street.

"Tibby's?" she asked, looking at the sign, "I've never been here before. 'Course, I don't usually eat out."

"Me neither. But Francis's talked about it once," I said, opening the door for her. He didn't say much, except that he ate there once a week or more with his friends and they had pretty good food. The place was dead when we walked in. The waiters were hanging out around the counter and talking with each other. The fans were on, sending an annoying buzz throughout the room. Angie and I took a seat at a small table off to the side after we had browsed the menu in the chalk. The waitress, a tall nice looking lady, padded over to take our order.

"I would hurry and eat, girls," she said while scribbling down what we had dictated.

"Why?" I asked, messing with the salt shaker.

"'Cause those boys are comin' and they flirt like there's no tomorrow," she said with an impish smile as she whisked away,

Angie frowned at me. "What boys?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. But let's ask that lady before we leave if she can give us directions."

She blushed and nodded. Our food was cooked fairly quickly, and we were munching away on hamburgers and fries, good ol' American cuisine, when the storm hit us. I say storm because it was like an earthquake had shook the building when all those boys came romping through the door. Angie and I froze as we watched them liter themselves across the dining room. Suddenly, we wanted to either run out of the building or hide under a rock and hope no one noticed us. Instead, we formed a shield with the tattered menus and hid our faces behind it.

"We need a plan of escape," I said in mock-seriousness. Angie giggled and nodded. The noise the boys were creating was deafening.

"Shall we crawl under the tables?" Angie asked, peaking around the shield, "Some of them are really cute though!"

I shook my head, "I say we run for it. They wouldn't chase us."

"Or would they?" Angie asked with a grin. I rolled my eyes. "Awuh come on, Charlotte! You underestimate your own beauty."

"Sure, sure," I said sarcastically, "Come on, let's go. Our skirts are giving us away."

"Hello, ladies," purred a male voice above us. Too late. Angie and I glanced up simultaneously and saw a boy looking down over our shield with a smirk and cigar in his mouth. We quickly disassembled the menus, blushing.

"S'everything alright? We was just wondering 'cause-"

"Awuh shuddup, Race!" someone said from behind and we giggled as the boy was jerked away from us by the collar. In his place stepped another boy with an eye-patch. An eye-patch!

"Sorry, ladies. Racetrack don't have no respect for privacy and- oh hey, wait just a minute! I know you!" he said excitedly, looking at me. Angie glanced over at me with a raised brow. I shrank. Gah, I should of known they were the newsies.

Racetrack stumbled back up to the his friend's side. "Oh yeah! You're the gal that Cowboy brought home one night!"

I blushed furiously and looked down.

"Charlotte. Her name's Charlotte. And I'm Angie," she said, standing and holding out a hand. Thank God for Angie. I forced myself to stand with her and exchange names with the boys.

"Dis is Racetrack and I'm Kid Blink," he said with a grin, shaking both of our hands.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Cowboy is, do ya?" Racetrack asked. I nodded.

"The Refuge."

They both laughed and then Racetrack turned around to face the rest of the boys.

"Hey, fellas, Cowboy's back in da Refuge! I gots a dollar that says he'll be out in two weeks"

My mouth dropped open as I heard more offers for a month or even just another day. As this continued, Kid Blink invited us to sit with him. I would of said no, but Angie beat me to it and agreed. I glared over at her when he wasn't looking. She probably thought he was cute. Which he was.

We transferred our plates to the big long table that they had made and the boys instantly welcomed us into their group with introductions and attempts at flirting that were just all together hilarious. Angie felt right at home while I dedicated my attention to my food. I listened with half an ear to their conversation, smirking at their jokes occasionally while Angie almost fell off her chair laughing. Poor girl, I thought to myself, she'll have a beau by the end of the meal.

"You don't like pickles?" someone said to my left. I froze, my hand holding the disgusting pickle midair. I glanced over and saw a boy I was sure they called Dutchy.

"Yes, I do," I said and then dropped the pickle on a napkin. He laughed and then scooped up the pickle and ate it. I crinkled my nose and went back to my hamburger.

"So, what," he said while chewing, "Are you Cowboy's girl or not?"

I glared at him. "Why, did he say I was?"

"I wouldn't be asking if he did."

"No," I said, "I'm not. Just friends."

He nodded and chewed on the end of a straw thoughtfully. "How old are you anyway?" he asked.

"Almost fourteen," came the automatic answer. It was just two more weeks away, so I felt I had a right to say 'almost' without sounding completely immature. I frowned heavily. Henry wouldn't see my fourteenth birthday...and we had had so many plans.

"And so then he says, 'Dat's what I call a sticky situation!'," someone said before the entire room erupted with laughter, causing me to jump and look up quickly. Angie really did fall off her chair and I grabbed my hamburger as two of the newsies stumbled towards me, blinded in their laughter. I scooted out of the way just as they crashed into the table, causing an even louder resound of laughter.

"Geeze, Mush! You spilled coke all over me!" Dutchy yelled while slapping the laughing newsie upside the head. He grabbed twenty napkins and start dabbing his pants.

"S-s-sor- sorry!" the offender managed to squeeze out between spasms of laughter, "Chya hear that, Dutchy? Sitcky...stick- sticky situation!"

Mush fell back on his friend's arm, slapping him repeatedly on the shoulder while his face was beginning to look more and more like a cherry.

"Get it?" he cried as Dutchy shoved him away.

I rolled my eyes and went to lean against a wall, a far distance away from any of the slap-happy newsies. Dutchy followed me, muttering under his breath and dabbing at his pants.

"When do you guys leave?" I asked while observing Angie who was trying to calmly wipe up the salt she had spilled, but kept randomly bursting into laughter.

"Probably in another few minutes. We like to catch people walking back to work after their lunch break."

I nodded while chewing.

"So how do you know Angie?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to her.

"Uhm, I really don't. We just met on the street one day," I answered, "She's helping me find Trinity Church... but we kind of got lost."

He laughed. "It's just a couple of streets away from here."

I stared at him. "Really? Then we should get going. Or at least I should. I don't think Angie would wanna leave."

"Want me to lead you?"

"Uhm," I chewed on my lower lip, "I wouldn't know how to get back to my place without her. But thanks."

He shrugged. "No problem."

I wandered over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Angie, the church is a few streets from here. Wanna go?" She looked up from her conversation with Kid Blink and smiled.

"Shoah," she said, "he ate my burger anyway."

I rolled my eyes as she playfully glared at him. Of course, he was blushing furiously and looked awful smitten. I didn't blame him, Angie was a head-turner. We said good-bye to everyone, but before we left, they made us promise to come back and dine with them again. I wondered if Francis would be with us then.

The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk, Angie said, "Oh, you better come back with me, Charlotte!"

"Why?" I whined.

"Because! I think Skittery likes you!" she said excitedly.

"Who?"

"Plus they're a fun lot! I about died when Pie-Eater told us that joke!"

"Whose Pie-Eater and whose Skittery?" I demanded. I know, I'm not very interested in boys, unlike Angie whose all about the who-likes-who game, but it's always flattering to find out someone thinks you're pretty or attractive. I was just curious.

"Skittery was the one flippin' around cards with another kid at a table near the front of the restaurant. You didn't see him?"

I shook my head.

"Bah, you were probably too busy trying to become one with the wall," Angie said with a laugh, "Well anyway, I saw. He kept glancing over at you."

"Maybe he thought I was strange."

"Maybe."

"What about Dutchy? He actually talked to me," I protested. Angie shrugged.

"He just wanted your hamburger."

I burst out laughing. "He probably did! He kept eying it and even had the nerve to steal my pickles!"

"He probably didn't sell enough," Angie said, laughing with me, "Poor boy."

"So is Skittery cute?"

"Well sure! Not as cute as Kid Blink, but-"

I shoved her with my hip. She giggled as she stumbled a little to the left.

"Kid Blink, hah! He only has one eye!" I said.

"It's a very cute eye."

"He's probably a vicious pirate."

"I love pirates."

"You don't know anything about pirates!"

"I know that they have one eye."

"Angie- not all- argh! I give up!" I huffed. We crossed another street, the church in sight.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Angie asked.

"I'm not going in," I sighed, my cheerful mood disappearing as I saw the graveyard. Angie followed my gaze and started.

"Who died?" she asked instantly, her pretty blue eyes widening with alarm and concern. I shrugged her hand off my arm and walked through the wrought iron gate.

She followed me silently. I began looking for a fresh mound. Death was such a beautifully sad concept. It was a concept that I loved to pour my heart into when writing about it. I always cried when turning the pages of a chapter dealing with death. I felt such pity and love for the person who had lost their loved one that it was like I was stepping in their shoes and losing that loved one myself. So I guess I could say that since I've really experienced so many deaths I should have been prepared for this one. I wasn't.

There it was, the pile of dirt nearly choking any view of the marker. But it was there. Henry Arthur Davidson, 1860 – 1898. I knelt down besides it. I didn't have any flowers. I didn't want to talk to him. I knew he couldn't here me. Or at least I didn't think so. Besides, Angie was there.

"He was a good man, my father," I said quietly to Angie who was besides me. She gasped softly.

"Oh, Char, I'm so sorry!" she said, now kneeling also with one arm around me.

"He got really sick. I was in the Refuge when he died," I laughed bitterly, "Can you believe that Meggie would have the funeral without me?"

She shook her head.

"But it was alright. Meggie told me and Francis let me cry on him. I guess I wouldn't really wanted to go a funeral for my father anyway. Poor Meggie though. She needed me there. I just know she did," I said. Angie rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. We sat a ten minutes in silence, though it seemed like ten seconds the way my thoughts were racing. I was wondering if Meggie was really going to do vaudeville. I knew I wouldn't bear it. I hated vaudeville with a passion. I was also wondering what Francis had up his sleeve for Monday. Of course I wouldn't help him. I wasn't that dense. I would just end up in the Refuge once again. But I was looking forward to seeing Queen and a few other kids who I had gotten to know fairly well. Oh, and the governor of course! My mind wandered as I imagined what would happen if there was an assassination. But who would want to assassinate Teddy Roosevelt?

Finally, I got to my feet and pulled Angie up with me. "Let's head back," I said, "Isn't your break over anyway?"

Her eyes widened again. "Oh no, it is! How long have we been gone?" she cried.

"More than an hour, my friend," I said. We started racing out of the graveyard and down the road.

"I'm gonna get fired, Charlotte!" she said while running besides me, "They got this big waiting list for employees! They'll have no mercy, I'm sure of it!"

"Don't worry," I answered, "They like your work, don't they?"

"Sure! As much as the next person!"

Sad to say, though we ran and panted as hard as we could, when we came to Angie's shop the old lady was behind the counter and there was already a new girl working in the back.

"Whadda ya mean, Rachel?! I'm only a half-an-hour late!" Angie cried from the other side of the counter. I waited by the door.

"I told ya the terms before I hired you, Angie. Marge has been waiting for this job for a month," said the old woman. It did seem unfair. Maybe there was no heart behind all that fat and flub. I grinned to myself at the thought. The two battled it out for another five minutes, but in the end, Angie was walking out of the shop with me, her head hung low.

"Do you want to come back to my place for the evening?" I asked, "I could show you the theater and you can meet Meggie."

Angie sighed. "I suppose. Saves me coming home from what would be work and explaining it all to my father."

"Does your father work?" I asked.

She nodded. "But he doesn't get paid much. I let Mom stay home with the kids and I work. Or, well, used to. Bah, I better find a new job soon or else I'll be the one babysitting for the rest of my life." She groaned.

"What? You don't like kids?"

"No! And I really hate babysitting. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my siblings, but I don't want to have to deal with full-time child care before I'm married."

We walked to the theater slowly, both us in equally somber moods. We were tramping along, when suddenly Angie stopped and stared at a building across the street.

"Hey, Charlotte, does that sign say the 'Newsboys Lodging House'?" she asked. I squinted.

"Yeah, it does."

"Maybe that's where Kid Blink and his gang live."

"Maybe."

We trudged on. Soon we came to the theater. I gave Angie a quick tour, showing her where my box was and telling a little bit about the history of the theater. She wanted to see backstage, even though I warned her it was a disaster and not fit for viewing. How little fit for viewing I did not know until we stepped through the curtain. Oh, it was clean. Sparkling clean actually. That surprised me, but not as much as what was going on backstage. Meggie was there. She was laying on a couch in a creamy purple silk dress, face caked in make-up, and posing like a goddess for a painter who stood making quick strokes on his easel. I stared at the whole scene with an open-mouth. She had a sick, flirty look on her face that broke into a wide smile when we entered.

"Charlotte!" she cried, making a sign to the painter and coming to greet us, "I've been waiting for you all morning!"

She tried to hug me, but I pulled away as her feathers brushed against my face and I was doused in the sweet scent of some perfume.

"Meggie...what's going on?" I managed to say, my eyes drilling a hole in the painting.

"I'm going vaudeville! I told you this morning, dear!" she said with too much excitement for two sentences, "And whose this? A friend?"

I spun around. Angie was still there, smiling politely. My stomach sank. She probably thought my mother was some whore. But who could blame her, the way Meggie was dressed...

"This is Angie," I said, "Angie, this is Meg-"

"Medda! It's Medda, darling," Meggie said, suddenly slipping into an accent I couldn't put my finger on, "Medda the Swedish Meadowlark!" What the heck? Okay, that had to be the stupidest vaudeville name I had ever heard of.

Of course, Angie said, "Oh, how very pretty! Do you perform here?"

I nearly gagged. "Meggie," I said, stressing her name, "Can I talk to you in private? Sorry, Angie."

Meggie shook her head, her curls bouncing. "Sorry, dear, but this lovely artist has to finish painting." I glanced over and saw the artist blush. That was it. I ran through the curtains, down the aisle, up the stairs, and flung myself on the couch in my balcony. I started crying. Again. I couldn't believe myself. I tried to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. I wished Francis was there with me, or someone who could absorb my salt water and hold me like he did. I wished Henry was there. He had always held me and understood me when I cried, even if it was for the wrong reasons.

I couldn't believe Meggie. She couldn't be that depressed could she? We couldn't be that much in debt, could we? How could Meggie sell herself out like that? Why couldn't she at least hire vaudeville acts? Why did she have to do it? Why did she have to do _everything_?

By the time Angie found me, my tears were gone and my eyes dry. I was hugging my knees and staring down at the stage. Angie mimicked my position. We didn't say anything, but leaned on each other and found comfort in the silence.

Misery loves company.

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**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews guys! We totally need to get more readers on here, 'cause at the moment, all the authors are playing the 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine' game. :D Also, for some shameless plugging, the NML is hosting a Holiday Fic contest and check out AdrenalineRush16's profile for details about Mush Week!

Review, review, review, review -something witty here that tempts you review-


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